Erotica writers have it hard…

I’ll be the first to admit that the beginning of this week sucked. And not in the I’m going to blow your mind way I write about, but in the if I could have a do-over or maybe memory erasing medicine that would be fantastic kind of way. The kind of suckage that could have, and should have, seriously impacted my ability to achieve even one of my self-imposed deadlines I mentioned a few weeks ago. Edits and revisions loom, query letters wait to be polished, and my nerves increase with each passing day on the calendar.

Luckily, for my sanity, and the sanity of those around me, I’ve still been able to maintain at a steady—if not fast—pace, but my connection to my characters suffered. Tired of plodding along, today I decided to take charge, or rather, decided to let my brain take charge—the part reserved for my stories, that is, the part where my characters live.

Drastic times called for drastic measures, and all that.

Remember, the life of an erotica writer is hard.

Armed with coffee and fortitude, I took my task very seriously.

Nothing like a little research on Pinterest of the sexy men and women in compromising positions variety to get the creative juices flowing. Within minutes my leading man and woman, Sara and Jacob, embodied each couple I came across. His hand wrapped around her throat just so; her pressed between the wall and him, hardness to hardness; her riding him, their clothes still a barrier. Pretty soon the words-revisions-edits were flowing and the only thing stopping me was the inability of my fingers to keep up with my brain. Five hours in, my muse whispered, almost there. And the work day wasn’t even finished yet.

What’s better than that? The feeling of not only rising above that which brings you down, but of conquering it, owning it, until that which once sucked now works for you.

Nothing, right?

Well, okay, maybe staring into your child’s eyes for the first time, or the day commitments were made with your significant other. And maybe the day you ate a whole chocolate fudge cake by yourself [what, don’t pretend I’m the only one who’s done that]. But other than those…

Now I’m not suggesting staring at half-naked pictures is all it should take to motivate someone out of a funk, nor am I suggesting that my ability to create today somehow makes it a more valid day than the one where I didn’t do much more than go through the motions. Some days making it out of bed is an accomplishment. One thing this life has taught me is to celebrate each step, no matter how small. But when big strides are made, when I find I’ve climbed more than half a mountain that at one time felt insurmountable, in the midst of major suckitude [yes, I’m making up words and I don’t care], you might just see me doing a booty wiggle worthy of Anna Kendrick and John Krasinski.

So what about you? How do you celebrate when you rise above what life throws at you?

I have never eaten a whole chocolate fudge cake.
A whole packet of Pepperidge Farm biscuits and a large bar of Cadbury’s, sure. But not a whole chocolate fudge cake.
I say this not to prove superiority, just to indicate that there are several paths to hell, and they’re all lined with noms.
😉